


How to Raise Your Daughter When You're a Bisexual Polyamorous Cannibal

by DjaqtheRipper



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 06:28:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11075937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DjaqtheRipper/pseuds/DjaqtheRipper
Summary: Clarice Starling, Hannibal Lecter, and Will Graham have a daughter together.





	How to Raise Your Daughter When You're a Bisexual Polyamorous Cannibal

**Author's Note:**

> So, basically, _Silence of the Lambs_ happened in the mid-season 3 gap where Will and Hannibal weren’t talking but Hannibal was in prison. In the years following, including during 3, Clarice Starling’s career was essentially destroyed by Paul Krendler, as detailed in the book _Hannibal._ Meanwhile, she and Dr. Lecter have maintained a written correspondence and she visits him regularly. She has gradually, largely because of the nature of her FBI work, adopted Lecter’s worldview. She is no longer content to work for the FBI. Hannibal and Will go over the cliff at the end of season 3, but they survive. When they land in the water, there’s a boat there to meet them. THe boat is captained by Clarice Starling, who had been following in a separate vehicle behind the convoy, had been watching from the shore and saw them go over. The three run away together. 
> 
> In my head canon Clarice is black. 

(Will Graham is dead.) 

Will Graham is staring out the window of a train somewhere in Europe- he’s stopped paying attention to the stations that flash by. He’s more interested in the photo in his hands, which he has folded to fit in his wallet, but that is instead opened on his knee, when it is not folded between his fingers. It bears many crease marks and much wear, but it has never been folded in a way that obscures the image: a two year old girl, covered in paint, grinning up from the mess she’s made of the floor. Her eyes are deep brown, but in the light of the camera, they almost look maroon.

(Will Graham was the last victim of Hannibal the Cannibal.) 

Hannibal has had no _last_ victim, only a most recent victim. The most recent victim of Hannibal Lecter is dry roasting in his oven for tonight’s dinner. 

(Will’s body never washed up on the shore, so there was no body to bury, but there was a funeral. Jack Crawford spoke, about giving one’s life in the name of service, everything he can do to save Will’s name and spare his reputation. Alana Bloom doesn’t cry- the new person Alana Bloom has become is incapable of crying in public- but she squeezes Margot’s hand tightly throughout the service, and holds her son tightly on her lap. Hannibal Lecter would’ve laughed, the bastard, and waited for the church’s ceiling to fall in.) 

Will closes his eyes and counts down the minutes to home. 

He gets uneasy when he’s been away too long, and almost any amount of time feels like too long. He starts to feel watched, like a bug under a microscope. The memory of Will Graham is dead and buried, a continent away, but Will himself still feels watched when he goes out. He’s never had a terribly recognizable face, and he’s never been the main subject of attention, but one can never be too careful, especially when one is a dead man walking. 

The trip wasn’t long- a few days in a city with a job offering Hannibal liked the looks of- just a quick assessment of whether the city seemed safe, or if it seemed like the kind of place that would remember the face of Hannibal Lecter off the FBI Top Ten Most Wanted List, or the Florentine newspapers of several years prior. Will had a less recognizable face, and besides, Will was supposed to be dead anyway. Will was often sent to be the canary in the coalmine, so to speak, because he was the least likely to be associated with Hannibal the Cannibal. Clarice had changed her hair, but she had still been plastered across the tabloids as the “Woman with the Highest Bodycount” after the botched raid on Evelda Drumgo, so there was still more risk of her being recognized. At any rate, the visit had gone fine, but the proximity with strangers always made Will wary. The life he’d built could be over in an instant- as they’d learned with Pazzi, it might only take one person to bring the authorities crashing down. 

If it were still just Will and Hannibal, the authorities could be handled quickly, easily, put down with two pulls of the trigger of Will’s Smith  & Wesson. But it’s no longer just the two of them, so they’ve learned to be cautious. 

The train grinds to a halt, and Will opens his eyes. The landscape outside his window is overwhelmingly green, a square of forest outlined by the interior of the train. It is autumn in Lithuania, and nearly chilly- the leaves have begun to shiver on their branches and fall away. 

Home. 

Will gathers his few belongings- a briefcase that hangs from his shoulder, and a small suitcase- and crosses the narrow aisle to where the train car door is sliding open. The air from outside is biting, and Will tightens his scarf. Even before the door is open, he is scanning the platform for a familiar face- and hoping no one else finds that face familiar. He exits the train searching for someone- either the impeccably dressed Dr. himself, smiling reservedly, or Clarice with her neat clothes and wild curls. As the throng clears, Will notices a figure standing away from the crowd, by a pillar. She’s wearing a forest green overcoat and brown riding boots. One of her toes is tapping as she searches the flood of people exiting the train. She hasn’t spotted him yet. It’s little work to work his way to her. She notice him, and her face opens like a flower, her brown eyes opening wide. She grins a little crookedly, but is undeniably beautiful. That’s the wonder of Clarice- even in muddy boots, with her hair making a bid for freedom from her ponytail, she’s one of the most stunning people he’s ever seen. 

“Welcome home,” she says, taking his suitcase from him. He’s learned better than to protest. 

“Miss me?” he asks, not really expecting an answer. 

“Of course.” She stands on her toes to kiss him. Her palm is gentle on his face, over three days of stubble. This close to him, she is warm and soft, in a way that makes him suddenly aware of her body against his. He would very much like to keep touching her. She tastes like mint, or cilantro, something fresh and green. When the kiss has ended, she uses her free hand to take his, gently guiding him towards the parking lot. Her fingers are warm, and a little sweaty. He squeezes them in a nonverbal hello. “Mischa missed you something fierce. Hannibal’s keeps trying to read her _The Satyricon_ but she’s not having it. She wants one of your books.” 

Will laughs. It’s a laugh that opens his chest and makes him able to breathe again. It even smells like home, here. “And she will have one. I picked up a new one while I was gone.” He taps his briefcase for emphasis. 

They walk in quiet, for a moment. They’ve always been comfortable with silence, and with each other’s company. Hannibal is his partner in crime, and they are always in motion, spiraling around each other, in some way progressing towards some necessary end. Clarice is someone he can be still with- she is his fishing companion, the one who can calm him down no matter what. Mischa is… Mischa is everything. Will doesn’t know if his is a mind capable of romantic love. With his empathy, love becomes a mirror, reflecting the other person- ultimately, true love for Will Graham would be a total loss of self. In Hannibal he finds completeness. They are two sides of the same coin, necessary parts of a whole, capable of more together than apart. He knows that Hannibal loves him, and wonders if he empathically reflects that back, and if that’s enough, if that means that he loves Hannibal too. Clarice helps him become the man he wants to become. Accepting an amoral perspective is not the same as desiring stagnation. In Hannibal, Will loses himself. With Clarice, he finds himself. He remembers who he is, that he has an identity outside of the identities of others. Will needs that, sometimes, and would not be able to live with Hannibal if he didn’t have someone there to ground him and keep him from getting lost. 

Clarice has driven Hannibal’s car: a supercharged Jaguar, gunmetal grey and gleaming. It purrs when she starts it. The interior smells like leather and musk, something clean and masculine. It makes Will realized how much he’s missed Hannibal. He wonders if seeing him in person will allow Will to stop worrying about being recognized, as he’s been afraid of the last three days. 

“Good to be home?” Clarice asks, her eyes straying from the road to watch his reaction. 

“Yes,” Will breathes, taking in the familiar stretch of highway, all the old landmarks that line it. From the driver’s seat, Clarice smiles softly, giving a low hum of agreement. 

The roads to Lecter Castle are long and sinuous, buried behind heavy foliage and tree cover. The Castle itself, in all its vastness, is hidden deep in the countryside. Living there is hiding in plain sight, but after trying to find it for himself, Will understands exactly how unlikely it is that anyone would reach it without the guide of someone who knew the place well, which would leave only himself, Clarice, and Hannibal. And Chiyo, he supposes, who can sometimes be spotted in the trees or far back in the underbrush. The building itself took four years to repair, with the three of them working together, but eventually it was restored, water, plumbing, and power added in later. It is no longer the nightmarish disaster it had been the first time Will had seen it. Hannibal has taken great pride in restoring his ancestral home- “For Mischa,” he’d told them, not specifying which Mischa he meant. 

Will doesn’t mean to, but he falls asleep in the car. He’s always had trouble sleeping, and sleeping in hotel beds does nothing to make it easier. When he wakes up, Clarice is lightly shaking his shoulder and suppressing a laugh. “Couldn’t make it half an hour?” she asks, but her eyes are fond. 

“Guess not.” 

Walking up to the house is troublesome. The brief sleep has made Will far foggier than if he hadn’t slept at all. He fumbles with his key. There are lights on in the kitchen, and even from the front door, dinner smells amazing. He opens the door to music playing low somewhere- all he can make out is that it’s an opera, a piece that is lively, swelling, and up tempo. It fills all the open spaces in the house.

“Who’s for dinner?” Will calls, and the music pauses. There’s a moment of relative quiet, only the sound of shoes on wood, and then Hannibal is rounding the corner, Mischa in his arms. 

“I defrosted some of that German from two weeks ago. It may be leftover, but I assure you I have prepared a suitable homecoming meal.” Hannibal’s facial expressions tend to be less focused on his mouth and more focused on his eyes. His eyes are warm, soft, and inviting. ‘ _Oh, there you are,_ ‘ they seem to say, ‘ _I’ve been waiting for you.’_ “May I?” he asks out loud, and when Will nods, Hannibal leans in to kiss him on the cheek. It makes Will smile. It always has. It makes him feel like he’s in a movie, some heightened version of real life. Clarice comes in behind him. Hannibal greets her the same way, and the feeling of being in an elevated version of the universe intensifies. The best part is, then Hannibal passes Mischa to Will. 

Will hugs her tightly. Her hair tickles his chin. She laughs, her high, baby laugh, and Will laughs with her. Her hands are grabbing fruitlessly in the air until they settle for Will’s shoulders and tangle in his shirt. 

“Did you miss me too?” he asks and she nods, grinning from ear to ear. 

“Home again!” she exclaims, clapping her hands excitedly. Just for that he has to hug her again. 

Mischa may or may not be Will’s biological daughter. He’s never had it tested, and he’s never cared. She’s his as much as she’s Clarice’s, as much as she’s Hannibal’s. Will was standing at Clarice’s side, holding her hand in the hospital while Mischa was born. The medical staff had no idea what to make of their family, of proud, confident Hannibal, scarred Will, and Clarice, who screamed swears Will had never even heard of before during delivery. When they’re in public together, no one knows what to decide. Thankfully, Will has never much cared what other people think. Mischa is his daughter. She’s also Clarice’s, of course, and Hannibal’s. Hannibal is the one with the castle, the legacy to pass on, so Hannibal’s the one who named her. Her middle name is Graham, not because Will cares, but because Clarice is deeply concerned about fairness. There are no more Starlings, after Clarice. Clarice has never been concerned by this. Will never thought he could have a family. What he had with Molly and Willy made him realize how much he wanted a family, but also how ill-suited he was for it. Deciding to run away with Hannibal seemed to answer that particular question, but then there was Clarice, and Mischa, and Will’s always had a very powerful imagination, but even he couldn’t have predicted the depth of feeling that overwhelmed him when he held his daughter for the first time. It felt like too much, too much for one person to contain. In that moment he knew that he would kill for her, die for her. He could tolerate anything if it kept Mischa safe. 

The family Will has made for himself is not normal, but Will has never been one to live normally. There’s a concept from Nietzsche, about designing an aesthetic life, removing all the unsuitable pieces, and crafting one’s life as one sees fit. Will has made a life for himself, and it is a life that he is happy to live, a life of aesthetic perfection. If it happens to entail living as a cannibal with a small daughter who is the product of a polyamorous triad, he is in no position to complain. 


End file.
